


Whispers in the Dark

by lurking_in_the_background



Series: The Dannsair [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidents, Again kinda since he’s shaming himself, Anal Sex, Blood, Butt Plugs, Come Inflation, Dance sex, Desperation, Exotic Dancer, Humiliation, I Am Sorry, I guess???, Interspecies Sex, I’m not good enough for you, Kinda, Lap Dances, Light Bondage, M/M, Master/Slave, Non consensual licking of a crotch, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Nope!, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ovipostion, Slavery, Slut Shaming, Somnophilia, Spiders, Stockholm Syndrome, TINY - Freeform, Tags Are Hard, Victim Blaming, Voyeurism, What Have I Done, foot/toe fetish, haha you thought I was done here?, heed the tags, he’s blaming himself, hope I didn’t miss anything, if that counts, is that how you spell that?, little bit, minor hurt/comfort, my poor baby, non-con, pissing, referenced/implied non-con, webs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurking_in_the_background/pseuds/lurking_in_the_background
Summary: The Goblin King is fascinated by the Dannsair’s toes; so different from his own. He desires his Dannsair in every way possible. The  Dannsair cannot escape his master’s whims, no matter how hard he tries.Or in other words, a series of chapters covering random ideas I have in this world.
Relationships: Original male character/original non-human male character
Series: The Dannsair [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570828
Comments: 15
Kudos: 42





	1. Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Never written anything like this before. I apologize in advance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dannsair tries to please his master and avoid unnecessary pain. His master doesn’t particularly care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is bad. I’m sorry; I’ve never written any smut before, so.  
> I feel very dirty after having written this. The Dannsair needs a therapist, and maybe a support group. His life is a mess...  
> Sorry, my poor baby.

The Dannsair squirmed in his master’s grip, held firmly in his master’s lap, his side pressed to his master’s chest. “Ah, my pretty darling,” his master crooned in his ear. “Look at those lovely little toes!” He could only smile nervously and murmur “Thank you, master.”

When his master wanted him, he always started with his toes.

“You have such cute little toes,” his master sighed, lifting one of the Dannsair’s feet up so he could roll the soft toes between two fingers. “So white, and soft,” his master continued, rubbing the undersides of the digits in question. “And you have ten for me to play with, don’t you lovely?” The Dannsair nodded, terrified to speak.

If he spoke, his master might go ahead and take him earlier than usual. It had happened before, and it had not been pleasant. He tried to drag these moments out, to delay the inevitable, if only so he enjoy his personal space.

His master grinned, the action twisting greenish lips and sharp teeth into a feral mockery of a smile. He gripped the Dannsair by his hips, twisted him about so he was facing his master, and placed his legs up on his master’s shoulders. He yelped in surprise, earning him a firm swat on the arse.   
“Now, now, pretty,” his master chided him, moving one of his feet to rest on his chest, the Dannsair’s toes resting on his lips. The Dannsair whimpered quietly as his knee was jammed into his own chest. It was very uncomfortable. “You know I love all the pretty sounds you make, but that wasn’t a very pretty noise, was it?”

The Dannsair shook his head. “N-no, master,” he squeaked. He could feel his master’s warm breath on his toes, and it tickled a little. He felt his master going hard beneath him, and he had to bite back a decidedly _not_ pretty sob. It was one of _those_ nights, then. He was going to be fucked within an inch of his life, and it was going to hurt.

He gasped when his master licked his smallest toe, and sucked it into his mouth. He felt his master shudder, his hand still maintaining a bruising grip on his hips, and heard his moan as he laved his forked tongue over the tiny digit in his mouth.

He cried out before he could stop himself as his master nipped the soft flesh on the underside of his toe. He was given a quick swat to the behind in punishment.

His master released the toe and glared at him in disapproval. “I told you not to make such unseemly noises,” he growled, and the Dannsair whimpered quietly; he hoped that, at least, sounded pretty. He was given a quick kiss on his lips in approval. “Much better, lovely.”

His master returned to his toes, giving the remaining four on his left foot similar treatment as the smallest one, before moving his attentions to his other foot; and this time, the Dannsair merely mewled and whimpered.

He didn’t want to upset his master into taking him early. If he was going to be fucked, he at least wanted some preparation, and if he was taken early, there was none, and it hurt like nothing he’d ever felt. He tried to avoid that outcome.

”You taste so good, lovely,” his master moaned releasing the Dannsair’s toes for the moment. “So sweet; like a little honey cake.” The Dannsair willed a delicate blush to his cheeks as he whispered, “Thank you, master.” He knew his master enjoyed it when he blushed. But only if it was pretty, like a porcelain doll. “I wonder what the rest of you tastes like,” his master rumbled, pulling on the Dannsair’s long, elegantly twisted rope of white hair, dragging his head back and exposing the milky white expanse of his throat.

He began to lick the pale column of his Dannsair’s neck, kissing it and sucking little bruises on it, marking him as his own; as though every goblin under the ground didn’t know that already, from the delicate-looking golden collar that adorned the same neck his master was biting.

”Did you use the new oil, lovely?” he panted, licking his lips. “Y-yes, master,” the Dannsair replied breathlessly, “I did, since you went through the trouble of getting something so expensive for me.” Indeed, the oil was expensive, truly; it was scented with honey and roses, and had been left by his bathtub when he’d awoken this morning, right next to a folded note, which contained an order for him to wear it, disguised as a fair-seeming lover’s letter.

Now he knew why.

He barely had time to react before, with a loud rip, the thin silks wrapped loosely about his body were torn from him, and he was left naked on his master’s lap, shivering in the cold.

He was thrown bodily onto his master’s bed, before he felt his master running his fingers down his chest and hips, closely followed by his tongue and teeth. He felt his toes become enclosed in the warm, damp cavity of his master’s mouth, each foot being lavished with equal attention, and with teeth nibbling at the tips of his toes and the undersides. Then, with a wicked grin, his master began stroking his length, the scales on his large hand stimulating his sensitive nerves. Despite the circumstances, the Dannsair felt himself growing hard against his will. Tears of humiliation slipped down his face, before he was flipped on his stomach, and he heard a soft pop as the bottle of oil on the bedside table was opened.

Without warning, two slicked, scaled fingers breached him, and he gave a shrill cry. At this point, neither of them cared particularly that the noise hadn’t been overly comely, or even a little pretty. They each had other things on their minds.

The Dannsair wailed as the sharp claws on his master’s fingers scratched the inside of his channel, before they found his prostrate, and were joined by two more fingers. Despite the oil, the Dannsair was in excruciating pain, and wriggled and bucked in an attempt to get away from the claws tearing up his insides. He screamed and cried and pleaded, begging for his master to stop, and he sobbed in relief when the fingers left him.

His relief was short-lived.

With a grunt, his master drove his length home, and the Dannsair screamed again as the scratches on his walls were torn open wider, each time his master pounded into him. There had not been near enough preparation for his master’s large cock, and he didn’t think he had slicked it either.

When his master finally came, deep inside the Dannsair, filling him with his seed, he could only cry at the relief he felt as his master withdrew. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the mix of blood and seed leaking down his thighs, his master’s hand bringing him to an unwanted release, or his master’s body wrapping him in a cage-like embrace, or even the burning pain inside him. He felt completely filthy, and couldn’t even escape his tormentor’s embrace. He could only lie there and hold back more tears.

Because now that his master was satiated, he would want his Dannsair to be pretty like a doll, and dolls do not cry loudly, or even visibly. Dolls only cried on the inside, where they wouldn’t bother their owners, while they smiled and blushed and played as prettily and as lovely as possible.

And what was the Dannsair, if not a pretty porcelain doll for his master’s enjoyment?


	2. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Goblin King doesn’t like it when others touch what belongs to him. Especially his Dannsair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is more from the King’s POV than the Dannsair’s. Just to switch things up.

It enraged him, beyond belief, to see his Dannsair lying so pitifully on the floor, bloody and beaten, one arm twisted right out its socket. His clothes lay about him, shreds of once fine silk and cotton, leaving him exposed for anyone to take. Seed that was not his own trickled down the Dannsair’s thighs, and the sight angered him even more. Who had dared to violate what was his, he wondered. Who would bruise such lovely porcelain skin, and mar such a pretty face?

That was when his eyes fell on his Dannsair’s toes. They were cut and bruised, and it appeared at least two were broken. It enraged him even more than the violation.

“Have my Dannsair brought to his room,” he ordered. “And if anybody harms him further, I will personally take their heads along with yours.” With such orders, the guards who went with him everywhere handled the unconscious elf with great care. He knew that his Dannsair had attempted to be friendly with them, had tried to talk to them when he could. He had shut that down quickly; his Dannsair was _his_ , and was reminded of such. It was one of the few times he had ever beaten the pretty elf, and he had felt rather guilty about it later. A little gift of sugar-dusted sweet cakes had resolved the issue.

The guards still cared about his Dannsair, evidently, if the way they held him was any clue. That would need to be remedied.

*

When his Dannsair was laid out on his bed, carefully laid on his back with his limbs spread out, he summoned a healer. Goblins didn’t really have healers, so they stole them from the elves above the ground, and this one was no different. She was small and thin, and pale as a corpse. He fervently hoped his Dannsair wouldn’t acquire that dead complexion; it would ultimately ruin his lovely porcelain doll looks.

“He needs his shoulder fixed, and his toes set,” he told her flatly. “Then you will treat every cut on his body. If you miss even one, I will kill you.”

She nodded, and then asked, “Would you please help me set his shoulder, my lord? I’m not strong enough to do it myself, and it’s only dislocated. You would only need to pop it back in-” “Yes, yes, I know how to fix a dislocated shoulder!” he snarled at her. He glanced at the inert body on the bed, and gripped his Dannsair’s arm tightly in one hand and his shoulder in the other, before giving the arm an upwards jerk. Upon hearing the satisfying pop, he leaned back, and his Dannsair sat straight up, screaming.

He gripped the hysterical elf by the shoulders, and slapped him. The screech stopped instantly, replaced with a sad little whimper. “Calm yourself, pretty,” he growled. “Who did this to you?”

Another tiny whimper was all he received in answer. “My lord, perhaps he is still in shock-” the healer began, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand. “You will answer me, pretty, or it will go ill for you.” This time, he stroked his Dannsair’s white hair. That always made the pretty thing talk to him. “I only want to bring your violators to justice. I cannot do so if you are silent.”

His Dannsair looked up at him from under frosty lashes. “You mean you won’t send me back to the pits, master?” he whispered hoarsely. “You still want me?” He continued to stroke that soft white hair. “Yes, pretty.” His Dannsair relaxed visibly, and he wondered why the silly creature would think he would be sent back there once he was no longer of use.

Dead bodies didn’t make good slaves.

*  
The perpetrators were quickly identified, and he had them publicly executed. He made everyone in the Underground Halls come, and sat his darling Dannsair on his lap to watch the proceedings.

“See, pretty? See what I can do if you give me what I want?” he cooed at the lovely little thing he held. “See how easy it was?” His Dannsair nodded. He was not allowed to dance or walk about for some time because of his broken toes. That did not prevent him from simply carrying his Dannsair everywhere he wanted him to be. He planted a kiss on his Dannsair’s temple.

It was good that he wasn’t too damaged. He could wait for his favorite toy to be fixed. Until then, he was going to make sure no one touched what was his ever again.


	3. Porcelain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dannsair can do naught but endure the rough hands of those much stronger than he, and suffer the damage such uncaring hands cause.

Sometimes, his master’s collar is enough to dissuade people from touching him in ways he does not want. The little band of gold that sits on his throat is a glittering reminder that he belongs to their king, and that the king will exact revenge on those who touch what is his.

Other times, it is not enough. Other times it is the sight of the skewered heads of those who have dared to touch the king’s Dannsair that stays their hands. They do not want to be next.

Very rarely, they ignore the threats completely. It is usually those who are doomed to die; sentenced to execution. They have nothing left to lose, so what is a crime punishable by death when they are to die anyways?

He tries to avoid the dungeons whenever possible for this reason. Those sentenced to death would reach through the bars of their cells and try to grab and grope him. He was pinched on the arse, grabbed by the hips, and once or twice he’d been pulled against the bars and rutted against; dirty fingers stuffed in his mouth as a gag. He didn’t tell his master, because what could he do? They were already going to die, so what was the point of telling him?

His master simply thought he was afraid of being alone in the dungeons, which resembled the pits a little.

He tried not to think too hard about that.

Of course, sometimes, he had no choice but to go down there. Sometimes, his master called for him from the dungeons, or sent him to fetch something from them. It was rare. His master generally tries to keep him away from places that scare him, since fear makes him look less pretty, like the doll his master loves to play with.

But today, he has to go down. He has to go to his master. He was summoned, so he must go; even if he doesn’t want to.

So, trembling in fear, he takes a torch and heads deeper into the dark earth.

The smells that assault his nose make him gag; the stench of mold, damp, urine, excrement, rot, and other smells he hates and fears all blend together into one, overwhelming, nauseating stench. He is barefoot, and so he feels the slick stones beneath his feet, and tries not to think about what they are slick _with_.

When he enters the cell-lined halls, he hears catcalls and whistles, vulgar obscenities crooned at him, hands reaching for him. He shrinks in on himself, frightened. They scare him.

“ _C’mere, little pretty, we won’t hurt you too much!”_

_“Just a little closer, pretty dolly, I can almost touch that sweet little ass of yours!”_

_“We’ll make it so good for you, just come closer!”_

They make him want to run to his room and hide; cry until his master comes and gets him. The memory that his master is just down the hall spurs him on. He walks a little faster, trying to ignore the voices.

He doesn’t notice when one prisoner throws an arm out in front of him, and he yelps in shock and terror, leaping back out of grabbing distance. He drops his torch in the process, and the hall goes dark.

It’s only when his back slams into the bars of the cells on the opposite side does he realize his peril, and by then it’s too late.

Hands quickly grab his waist and arms, and make quick work of the sash around his breeches, tearing apart the lacings on the front, dragging them down and off, before chucking them across the hall. Someone snatches them up and he hears them inhale his scent from them.

He feels dirty fingers at his lips, and he tries to resist them, but a hand forcibly opens his mouth and stuffs them in, choking off his scream. He bucks in their grasp, trying to free himself, and he bites down as hard as he can on the fingers in his mouth. There is a howl, and someone slaps his arse.

It’s not a warning either, like what his master does. Pain blossoms across his cheeks, and the fingers push deeper into his mouth. He gags on the intrusion, and the taste of filth and blood filling his mouth. He starts to cry, sobbing around the fingers in his mouth. Somebody shoves their length into him, and he screams around the fingers as he is relentlessly pounded into. Someone starts stroking his cock, and it makes him hard, even though he doesn’t want to be. The one fucking him comes deep inside him, and he cries at the horrible feeling of being full of unwanted seed.

The one stroking him draws him to completion, and he can’t help the moan torn from his throat as he comes all over the strange hand. The others in the hall laugh and jeer.

He is no longer being stroked, and he feels the one behind him withdraw. The fingers are removed from his mouth, and he is relieved, until another set is shoved in his mouth; these slick and dripping with his own seed, and another cock is shoved inside his abused hole. He whimpers against the fingers.

“Suck them clean, you little slut,” one of them growls in his ear. “You made a mess, so now you have to clean it up.” He cries, humiliated, and tries to refuse, but the grip on his arms gets tighter, until he is certain his wrist is about to snap. It hurt, and he wanted it to stop, so he began sucking those fingers, licking them clean of his seed as the second rapist comes inside him.

He is not released until there is no seed left on the fingers in his mouth, and then he is shoved to the floor. Laughter rings in his ears as he falls heavily on his knees, and weakly scrabbles for his breeches. The torn shreds of what remains are put in his hands, and he sobs, because now there is no way to hide the seed leaking down his thighs, or the red handprints on his arse and hips. He will have to face his master, horribly violated; broken into a million little pieces, like a porcelain doll dropped from too high.

He truly felt cracked and fragile, like those dolls his master compared him to. He glances up at the stairwell longingly, before he gathers the shredded remains of his breeches and staggers towards the room at the end of the hall instead. He can hear his master wringing information from someone; their screams of pain and agony. Sniffling, he pushes inside, hoping he looks at least pitiable enough for his master to hug him and nuzzle him before he starts drilling him for answers.

He feels like if he is yelled at any more, he truly will shatter into a million pieces.

At least they didn’t mess with his toes, he thinks to himself. Not this time.


	4. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a reference back to one of the previous chapters, where the King is fuming about the Dannsair’s rape. I intended to elaborate, I did, but I got distracted. 
> 
> The Dannsair is lonely. He just wants someone to talk to, no strings attached.

The Dannsair was lonely. He had next to no one to keep him company. The only person in this labyrinth of dark tunnels and misery who had made an effort to know him was the one preventing him from leaving it.

It was hurting him, physically and mentally.

His master told him that elves were social creatures, and needed someone to be with them.

Who was he to disagree? At this point, his master probably knew more about the needs of elves than he did.

He was often trapped in a single set of rooms, and usually alone. The servants were too afraid of his master to speak to him, and his master was often out doing things. He was often left alone.

That left the guards outside his door. He tried to talk to them, but they didn’t want to talk to him.

He tried to get them to talk to him, and asked them questions about their lives and families. They tolerated that in silence, but if he got too annoying, they would sit him on his bed and leave him there, closing the door behind them. That meant they were done with his questions.

He learned to tell them apart.

Eventually, he learned their names.

.

It had started as a quiet, terse argument outside his door. It was closed, because the Dannsair was trying to be unobtrusive and to leave them alone. He scooted closer, and pressed one pointy ear to the wood door.

“It can’t hurt!” one guard snapped at his partner. The Dannsair thought of him as The One Who Gives Pats. He liked him, because he gave the Dannsair little pats on the head before he closed the door when the Dannsair got too annoying. “He’s all alone in there! I just wanna say hi!”

“No!” his partner snapped. The Dannsair thought of him as The One Who Pets My Fingers. That one thought his fingers were cute, and gave them a quick rub before he closed the door. “ _He’ll_ get angry!”

“He might let you pet his fingers.”

There was silence for a moment. The Dannsair held his breath. “You just want to pet him, don’t you?” Pets My Fingers sighed.

“His hair is soft and fluffy!” Gives Pats protested.

Nonetheless, the Dannsair heard the door handle rattle and he skittered back as the door was opened. The two guards came in.

“Hey there,” Gives Pats cooed at him. “You wanna come over here?” And the Dannsair hesitantly made his way over, because despite the fact that the goblin guards all stood roughly a foot taller than he, and were far stronger than he, he desperately wished for company.

“Aw, you’re a little cutie, aren’t you,” Gives Pats told him, patting the Dannsair’s head, and running scaly fingers through his hair. “All soft and sweet?”

Pets My Fingers, true to his name, was playing with the Dannsair’s fingers. “Wonder if his Highness would let me make your little fingers all pretty..” he murmured, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the Dannsair’s knuckles. “You really are very pretty.”

The Dannsair let them pet him, smiling happily. “I don’t mind. But Master might, so I would ask him.” He felt fingers braiding his hair, twisting it up. He tilted his head back to get a better look, but his head was moved so he was looking forwards. A little pat on his head made him feel a little better, though.

“You want your braids to be straight, don’t you?” Gives Pats him admonished, and went back to braiding. The Dannsair instead watched Pets My Fingers as he splayed the Dannsair’s fingers wide and toyed with the tiny joints.

“I suppose you need names to call us by, hm?” Gives Pats told him, patting the back of his head to tell him that his hair was finished. “You can call me Nargzbul, and he’s Arznar.” The Dannsair gave a little wave.

“I’m sorry.. I don’t have a real name.. I’m just the Dannsair..” he murmured sadly. Nargzbul rubbed his back. “Oh we know,” he said simply. “Lots of your kind don’t have names here. I’d be shocked if you _did_ have one.”

The Dannsair felt a little better about that.

“Now, Dannsair,” Arznar warned him, “we weren’t here. The king won’t take kindly to you fraternizing with the guards. He’ll kill us and then punish you.” The Dannsair nodded vigorously. He didn’t want his new-well, not _friends,_ but not _not_ friends-company to disappear.

“Good.” Arznar gave his hands a quick pat, and he and Nargzbul sat the Dannsair down on his bed. Nargzbul pet the Dannsair’s head, and the two guards left.

The Dannsair was very happy that night. He was even able to pretend that he liked the food he was fed that night, and the pain of being taken didn’t hurt nearly so bad as usual.

All he could think about was how happy he was to have someone to talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been like 3 billion years. I got distracted.  
> I felt the Dannsair needed a win. Sorry, it’s not sad or scary or anything. Enjoy it while it lasts.


	5. Doll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the Dannsair wants is to be good and pretty and happy for his master. But sometimes we don’t get what we want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it’s spring quarantine, I suppose I could post a chapter. This one isn’t as bad. I suppose it’s a weird, twisted form of hurt/comfort, if you squint. It’s actually probably more of a Stockholm Syndrome, I guess?? Ah??

All he wanted was to be lovely and pretty and good for his master. His master did so love it when he was good, and did what he was told. If he was good, he got treats and kisses and little gifts.

If he was bad, well. Toys that don’t do what they’re supposed to do have to get fixed. Or thrown away.

He tried not to be bad.

He had never actually been threatened with being sent back to the pits, but he’d heard other slaves talk about what had happened to the _last_ Dannsair.

Apparently, the King went through a **_lot_** of personal pets.

He was simply the latest one.

.

The Dannsair had not had a good day.

His master had told him to serve his guests today, and he had been pinched and groped and made to clean things from the floor and..

He whimpered softly. One guest, a lord from some small fiefdom, was apparently unaware that the King had gotten a new Dannsair, and thought he was simply a serving slave. While the Dannsair had been pouring drinks, the lord had gotten it into his head that he could have his way with the Dannsair. When the King left, the lord enacted his plan.

The lord had waited until the Dannsair had turned and dumped his drink on his crotch. He had then exclaimed in outrage, and grabbed the Dannsair’s arm.

“Clumsy creature!” he’d snapped, yanking the Dannsair down to the floor, the metal pitcher in his hands clattering to the floor, red wine spilling across the floor. “Now look what you’ve done!” 

Dragging the Dannsair by his long white hair to kneel at his feet, the lord had shoved the Dannsair’s face to his crotch. “Get to cleaning then,” the lord had sneered, rubbing the Dannsair’s nose all over the sweet wine-coated pants and hard cock concealed beneath.

“I-I need a towel my lord,” the Dannsair had whimpered, struggling, his voice muffled slightly. “L-let me fetch one-!” His plea cut off in a squeak as the lord yanked on his hair.

“Use your pretty tongue, elf,” the lord snapped, pushing the Dannsair’s face harder against his crotch. “I don’t want to hear another word from you unless it’s, ‘I’m all done, my lord’, do you hear me? Because your tongue should be busy.”

The Dannsair was crying now, and he shook his head as best he could, because his master would _not_ like that, not at **all**. He was struck across the back of his head, and he heard a snarl.

“Fine, I guess you need help, then.”

The Dannsair sobbed, and the other lords and ladies begged the lord to stop. But the lord ignored them and one large hand grabbed the Dannsair’s jaw and forced it open, squeezing his cheeks until his tongue came out, and dragged the Dannsair’s head and tongue around his crotch.

The Dannsair squealed and tried to pull away, desperation in every action. But the lord was stronger. One other lord stood and helped to free the Dannsair.

That was when the King walked back in.

The Dannsair could tell he had seen the end of the assault, because the room went silent. He lay trembling against the leg of the lord who had helped to free him, and the King stalked there first. He picked up the quivering hysterical elf and bounced him slightly, like one does a crying baby. The Dannsair had to admit, as he slowly calmed down to a more manageable level of hysteria, that the feeling was soothing, and he pressed as close as possible.

“What happened here?” The King’s voice was soft and cold, promising a swift death to the cause of this mess. The Dannsair sobbed quietly. He knew he was going to get blamed for this.

He deserved it to; letting someone who wasn’t his master do something like that to him. He was sure to get thrown back into the pits for his infidelity..

“It was the elf’s fault, my liege,” the lord said quickly. “He spilled the wine on me and tried to lick it off me! You just saw my friend and I pry this harlot from me!” The Dannsair withered. He was a harlot, he thought miserably. A harlot and a whore and a slut too..  
  
The other lord was quick to dispute that. “He tried to have your Dannsair pleasure him! The poor pretty fought not to; I simply helped him!” The Dannsair didn’t notice the lord who had hurt him pale visibly at the realization that the elf he had tried to use was the Dannsair.

The King looked down at the trembling, despondent creature in his arms. “Well, pretty, what happened?” he asked, giving the Dannsair an encouraging little bounce. The Dannsair felt a little better. Of course his master would know that the Dannsair was always good for him.

The Dannsair sniffled. “I did not want to.. I only want you..!”

The King nodded, and rubbed the Dannsair’s sides. “Good boy. Such a good, good boy..” He waved a hand, and the lord who had used him was arrested. The guards were none too gentle, either, for the Dannsair had many friends amongst them. He was given a soft, proud smile and a little kiss, before he was carried back to his room.


	6. Used

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dannsair is ready for bed, and really wants to sleep. His master has other ideas, and they do /not/ involve sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for somnophilia! To make up for the lack of obvious smut in previous additions to this god forsaken series, I present you with...! This dirty little jewel! At least the goblin king has fun. 
> 
> Also, since the Dannsair is asleep, and therefore has no idea what’s going on most of the time, this is partly from the goblin king’s POV.

He watched his lovely Dannsair, all snuggled up in the soft blankets on his little bed, one pale, soft leg peeking out, tiny cute little toes curled slightly from the cold. He looked so tiny and forlorn.. 

The King couldn’t leave the poor thing there.. what kind of master would leave their poor little pretty trembling in the cold? 

He tsked and reached down to scoop up his Dannsair, so carefully that the sleeping creature merely snuffled quietly and stirred slightly. Lifting the blanket, he smiled at the sight of smooth, soft, pale skin. “Silly thing..” he chuckled. “You’ll catch a cold again, wearing nothing to bed.”

He kissed the Dannsair’s cheek. “Maybe we should get you all warmed up, hm?” 

The King kissed his Dannsair’s cheek, and carried him to his own bedroom. “Oh yes.. nice and toasty warm..”

.

Once he was safely inside his bedroom, he laid the bundle of sleeping elf on his bed, and slowly began to peel back the layers of blankets, unwrapping his soft little toy from his trappings. “Oh yes, pretty,” he cooed, admiring his handiwork. “You are by far my favorite doll..” He leaned in close and pressed a soft kiss to that pale throat. 

“I’ll be keeping you~”

His Dannsair moaned softly, and the King felt his cock twitch in his pants. His Dannsair responded so beautifully to him, even when he was asleep. 

His pants were getting uncomfortably tight, so he shucked them. His cock was standing at attention as he laved his tongue over the junction where his Dannsair’s neck met his shoulder, feeling the pretty thing whimper softly in his sleep. He moved down the pretty’s body, trailing kisses down until he reached his pretty’s navel, then to the juncture of his pelvis, where soft, plush thighs met smooth, narrow hips.

He lifted one long, slender, and creamy leg up so he could easily kiss those tiny, adorable toes, that practically begged to be squished and licked and sucked on; almost as tempting as his Dannsair’s soft, luscious lips. He made a note to find some nice gold lip tint. Or better yet, gold lip paint.

It would certainly go nicely with the gold eye pigments his pretty already possessed. Especially when paired with that lovely black kohl.

He felt his Dannsair squirm a little, and found it annoying. He set the leg down and left the bed for a moment. He rummaged through a chest at the foot of his bed, searching for something.

The chest contained many toys he had used (and hoped to use) on his lovely Dannsair during his stint as his pet. He generally tried to avoid the toys that caused a bad reaction, like the iron manacles or the coiled whip. His lovely didn’t react well to things that reminded him of the Pits; in fact, he was lucky if the creature reacted at all!

But the thin ropes.. those worked wonders.

He pulled those out, and after a moment, a second item, and climbed back into the bed. He flipped his Dannsair over onto his stomach and tied his hands to the headboard. He gave an experimental tug, and, satisfied that his pretty wasn’t going anywhere, began his fun.

He went back to kissing and sucking on his Dannsair’s toes, satisfied that the most the little thing could manage was a tiny wiggle. He finished giving attention to the now fully slick little digits, and turned his attention to his pretty’s lovely hole.

He wondered if maybe he should wake his Dannsair up. It would be more fun to hear those sad little noises, those desperate pleas, and see those lovely tears.

He decides against it. His pretty would put up such a struggle.. then he would have to damage him. He lifts his Dannsair’s hips up, hooking his legs behind his head. The King lowers his head to the little pink hole and works his tongue in.

A soft moan of pleasure surprises him. He looks up, and sees his Dannsair’s face a little pinker in his sleep. _This is new_ , he thinks, and returns to the task of opening his Dannsair enough to take his cock. The feeling of his pretty’s arsehole clenching around his tongue is nearly as good as his soft toes, and he decides that he is going to do this more often.

He is ready to come from the sensations on his tongue alone, and he decides his Dannsair has had enough preparation. He removes his tongue and drops his Dannsair’s hips, lining up his cockhead. There is a startled gasp that he gives no heed to, and then he’s pushing inside.

.

The first thing the Dannsair realizes when he wakes up is this is not his room. He is in his master’s bed! The second thing he notices is that his hands are tied to the headboard in front of him. He gasps, panicked, because he must have been _very_ bad to be tied up like this, and then he becomes aware of the third thing, when he’s painfully stretched almost to his limit: he’s being fucked. He wants to cry.

He can’t even sleep anymore; his master won’t let him.

He does, however, feel thoroughly wet, and his master’s cock is soon sliding almost pleasurably inside him. That’s not so bad. His master took the time to prepare him.

He must have been _very_ good.

Soon, instead of tears and cries of pain, he is moaning wantonly, mewling in pleasure, and pushing his hips back into his master’s thrusts, as much as his restraints will allow. It feels so, so good, and he needs to cum, _right now_! He has never needed to cum this badly before, and the sheer amount of need leaves him sobbing. He can’t cum unless his master says so, that’s what he’s been told, but he’s _never needed to cum this badly_!

He manages a whimper.

“M-master..! Can I? Please?”

.

It catches him off-guard, that little whimper, so much so it breaks his rhythm. He has never heard any of his Dannsairs plead to cum before. They normally scream and cry.

It’s much more arousing than he thought.

“Does my pretty need something?” he purrs in one pointed ear, “Aw, poor pretty.”

His Dannsair whimpers brokenly in response, pushing back on his cock. “You have to tell me what you want, pretty, or I can’t help you,” he says, petting his Dannsair’s spine. He needs this. It’s going to send him over the edge. “Let’s try again. Does my pretty need something?”

This time, he gets a mewl: “I need to cum, master..!”

That needy little whine sends him over the edge, and his vision whites out as he fills his Dannsair’s warm channel and belly with his seed.

It’s the strongest orgasm he’s had in a good long while, and he’s pleased to see his Dannsair’s stomach is a little bit fuller than when he began. “Oh yes, pretty,” he sighs, contentedly, “after that, you most certainly may.”

His permission granted, his pretty cums, crying out, completely untouched, and his Dannsair collapses limply into a panting, red-faced mess. He finds his balls have some seed left in them at the sight, and his Dannsair gets that too.

Reaching to the side, he grabs the plug from where he dropped it. He pulls out and swiftly stops up his Dannsair’s hole. “There we go,” he sighs, reaching up to untie his pretty’s hands. “Now you’ll be all nice and full all day for me, won’t you?”

His pretty manages a tired whimper as he’s flipped gently over, and he chuckles at the fucked-out look on his pretty’s face. “Oh yes..” He rubs his Dannsair’s full belly, enjoying the quiet squeaks of protest. “This was a good night..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well thanks to everybody who was able to stomach my shitty smut and still was nice enough to leave me kudos, which are always appreciated. Please remember to stay home and stay safe.


	7. Desperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King has decided that he wants the Dannsair to warm his bed. The Dannsair was not expecting it to go like /this/.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am a dirty person and I really want to humiliate my poor baby.

The Dannsair had no idea what he was doing here, as he fidgeted nervously on his master’s bed. It was large, covered by soft white sheets and fluffy pillows and blankets, and big enough to fit three people comfortably.

His master had simply grabbed him and carried him to the large bed, sat him down, and told him not to move. Clearly something in his eyes told his master that the Dannsair was frightened, so his master had affixed his silver leash to his collar and tied it to the bed, effectively keeping the Dannsair where he was supposed to be. Then his master had left.

That had been roughly three hours ago.

What if he was left alone in here all day? That had happened before, and he had been sad and hungry, not to mention lonely. He had cried a little, too. He desperately hoped his master came back soon. He _really_ needed to pee, and he was certainly _not_ going to do that on his master’s bed!

.

After another three hours, he was in serious pain, and he was wiggling, his foot tucked up against his crotch to keep from reliving himself. It felt like someone was squeezing his insides. He had started crying, too.

Gods it hurt!

It was all he could think about! He knew if he thought about it then it would get worse, but he _couldn’t help it!_ Ithurt too badly! He was certain he was going to explode, and at this point, not only was he convinced that this was punishment for something, but also that any other punishment he received from soiling his master’s bedsheets was nothing compared to this! He resolved that he was going to pee right then, and damn the consequences.

Of course, that was when his master walked in, and he immediately reached for him. “Master..! I really, really, really need to-!” His face turned pink, and he fidgeted more.

His master smirked. “Need to what, pretty?” The Dannsair whimpered in response. “Can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” his master sighed. “Guess it must not be that important.” The Dannsair sobbed at that. Oh yes, this was _very_ important. “I need to pee!” he wailed before he thought better of it. “It really hurts! I have to go _now_!”

His master chuckled. “Aw, poor pretty! Let me help you.” He untied the Dannsair’s leash and gave it a sharp tug. The Dannsair almost let go right then in shock, but managed not to, through sheer willpower.

However, he _did_ hit the floor. And _that_ made him let go, to his immense horror. He could feel the warm liquid soaking his clothes, and pooling beneath him. His face burned, and he started crying again as the acrid scent of urine filled his nose.

“I-I’m sorry, master!” he sobbed, curling up, trying to be as small as possible. He was in trouble, such big trouble! He had just pissed himself all over his master’s floor like some poorly trained puppy, and made a mess. He was very bad.

His master started laughing, and he was pulled up by his leash. He scrambled to his feet to avoid getting choked by the unforgiving leather collar he wore in his master’s room, blushing profusely as more piss dripped in thin streams from his already-soaked clothes. He was confused and scared. Why was his master laughing?

This couldn’t be good.

“Aw, my poor pretty!” his master laughed, leading him to the bathroom. “I guess you really did have to go, hm?” His master gestured for him to strip, and with trembling hands he began disrobing. Soon he stood naked and covered in urine in front of his master, his face, neck, ears, and chest tinged a bright pink.

“Maybe you’re just a little pretty, hm?” his master purred, walking forward and circling behind him. “Little pretties don’t know how to control themselves, do they?” The Dannsair jumped and yelped when a sharp smack landed on his ass.

He knew enough not to shy away or run from the swats though.

“Are you a little pretty?” His master’s voice was right by his ear. “Do we need to find you little bottles? To put that cute little ass in a diaper? Hmmm?” The Dannsair whimpered and shook his head. No, no he did not want any of that! That would be absolutely humiliating! It-it would make it impossible for him to dance if he was wearing a-

He couldn’t make himself think the word. It was too humiliating.

“No master..!”

Another sharp swat to his ass made him cry out in surprise. “Well then, pretty, let’s make a little deal.” The Dannsair shivered. His master’s deals rarely went well for him..

“I’m going to leave you alone tomorrow, just like I did today,” his master purred, kneading the soft flesh of the Dannsair’s backside. “If you can manage to hold out until I get back, and then pee in the toilet like a big boy, then we won’t talk about this ever again.

“ _However_ -” the word was punctuated with a sharp squeeze of his ass “-if you _do_ make a mess, _before_ you get to the toilet, you’re going to be tied to my bed, in nothing but a cute little diaper and this collar, until I come back, every day for a week.”

A soft kiss was pressed to the Dannsair’s ear. “I will treat you like the baby pretty you are; I’ll even find you a nanny to watch you while I’m gone.” The Dannsair’s lungs wouldn’t work; his stomach was a huge knot. This was bad.

_Very_ bad.

“Deal, pretty?”

The Dannsair could only nod and accept his fate:

This was not going to go his way.

.

The next day, he was tied to his master’s bed, the same as the day before, and he was left alone. He took a deep breath. Everything was okay.. he didn’t have to pee at all.

Yet.

That one word kept nagging his thoughts. _Yet_. It was like an ultimatum. He didn’t need to go right _now_ , but he _would_.

He whimpered, scared.

.

It had been almost four hours when he started feeling it. The Urge. It wasn’t bad, but he knew better. It was going to get steadily worse, until he was forced to pee himself out of sheer desperation.

It wasn’t much longer, he told himself. It wasn’t much longer.

.

Too long. It had been too long. It had been nearly nine hours in total, and he was in serious pain. It hurt him so badly that he had to curl up to keep himself from peeing.

He couldn’t do this, he realized miserably. He was going to pee soon, whether he wanted to or not.

Miserably, he let go, and resigned himself to a week of abject humiliation, tears beading in the corners of his eyes.

That was how his master found him, two hours later, curled up in a bright yellow puddle of urine on the bed, and he didn’t need to look up to know that a smirk adorned his master’s green-grey lips.

“Aw.. poor baby..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to everyone who has left me kudos on this work, no matter how debauched, deplorable, disgusting, and badly written this is. You make me feel appreciated!
> 
> Democracy time! Do you want to see the Dannsair’s punishment? Please pm me with your vote!


	8. Useless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an apprentice mixes up some potions deliveries, the Dannsair gets shrunk. His master is okay with this.
> 
> The Dannsair is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew a thing, and now I write.
> 
> Warnings for ovipostion, voyeurism, and general unpleasantness.

The Dannsair was not sure if this is better or worse than what his master had planned.

Instead of an aphrodisiac designed to keep him on the edge for hours, he ended up roughly six and a half inches tall, and sitting in the palm of his master’s hand.

He could tell his master had conflicting feelings about this development. The Dannsair was in the same boat. On one hand, he wasn’t going to be fucked until his brain stopped functioning (usually very painful). On the other hand, he was squishable. Neither were very good options.

While the Dannsair was still thinking on whether or not he liked this development, his master came to a decision. Before he could so much as squeak, he was put into one of his master’s pockets.

“I can’t leave you,” his master sighed, “you’ll get squished or eaten. So, just stay there until I get you fixed.” The Dannsair was just fine with that. Besides, the pocket was soft and warm, and he could cuddle all he wanted.

Cuddles were not a thing that happened unless his master was in a _very_ good mood. Which was rarely.

He cuddled the fabric and took a nap.

.

The Dannsair woke up to being extricated from his master’s pocket. He was being lifted by his leg, so he was dangling upside down. He looked up in confusion.

Yes that was his master’s hand.

Yes he was being picked up.

No he did not know why.

His eyes widened when he cleared the edge of the pocket and was dropped in what looked like a glass jar. “Oof!” he squeaked as he had the wind knocked from him. He laid there for a moment, wheezing, trying to breathe.

That was when he heard the second tink of something _else_ being dropped into the jar with him.

The Dannsair struggled to sit up and immediately shrieked in terror:

It was a spider. A really big spider. And it was looking at him.

Tears began pouring down his face, and he started to cry harder when his master screwed a lid on top of the jar.

This was intentional.

That spider wasn’t going to eat him. That horrible realization hit him when he saw his master watching him and the spider hungrily. His master would never let him get eaten.

He was still useable.

This spider was going to do something to him, and his master was going to watch

He had a very good idea of what that something was when the spider forced him down and crawled on top of him, chittering happily, and he felt something nudge at his entrance.

The Dannsair screamed when he was roughly penetrated and held down as he was violently fucked.

No, no, no! What had he done to deserve this?! What had he done wrong?!

He was reduced to a sobbing mess as he realized this was simply because his master could. He hadn’t done anything wrong. His master just wanted to watch him suffer.

That was when he felt the eggs.

Tiny round little eggs, thousands of them, were being stuffed inside him. He was going to be forced to carry these things to term, he realized, when he felt the spider coating his insides with seed to fertilize the eggs. His tears redoubled, and he wailed in misery.

The worst part was, the spider was actually not the worst fuck he’d ever had.

It wasn’t even bad. This was probably in his top five.

It made him cry harder.

.

The Dannsair was dimly aware that his master had jerked himself off to the sight of his Dannsair being raped by a bug. He was also dimly aware that his master had left some time ago once he had been satisfied, and left the Dannsair in the clutches of the spider.

His stomach was so full he couldn’t move. The spider had stopped fucking him and sealed his hole with a bit of webbing, before moving him onto a newly spun web. He was then webbed into a thick cocoon and left. His master had taken the lid off the jar when he left, and the spider had filled the whole jar with webbing, and was now perched on the rim of the jar.

The Dannsair wondered if he was going to die, and the spider babies would just eat their way out of him.

Around the middle of the day, the Dannsair felt movement on the web. He couldn’t really move his head to look, but he was sure the spider had caught something.

The spider came down a moment later with a half eaten fly, and pressed the dead bug to his face. It clearly wanted him to eat it.

If the Dannsair had been able to throw up, he would have.

Of course he had eaten worse. But he didn’t want to eat a fly! That was disgusting!

The spider withdrew, and began eating the fly itself. He sighed with relief.

His face was suddenly grabbed in the spider’s mandibles and it forced his mouth open. He choked and vomited as liquified fly was forced down his throat.

He wanted to die. Why did the gods hate him? What horrible things had he done in a past life that the nicest thing he had had done for him here was a spider forcing him to eat liquid fly?

When he was released, he simply cried silently. He must have been truly awful in a past life, he thought. He guessed he deserved this, then.

At least he was getting cared for..

.

This treatment went on for several days. Or weeks. He didn’t know. He got fed whenever the spider caught something. There was no regularity.

That was when it began readjusting his legs, spreading them wide, and cutting away the excess webbing between his legs, so that his hole was open and exposed. The plug hadn’t come out yet.

He had a feeling it was going to soon.

.

He felt it.

A crack.

Then another.

And then they were all hatching in his stomach. He could feel them wriggling and crawling all over his insides.

If he had been of normal size, his shrieks and screams would have filled the room and maybe part of the hall.

But the Dannsair was tiny, and his screaming simply alerted the spider to his plight.

The spider checked between his legs and it chittered soothingly when it saw that the plug was still intact. It rubbed his stomach, and it would have felt nice had there not been more than a thousand baby spiders in his guts.

He wailed when it began to leave him. Was he just supposed to _wait_ for the babies to eat their way through the plug?! What if he vomited spiders?!

Apparently the spider thought about vomiting, or had gotten tired of his screaming, because the next time he opened his mouth, it was filled with webbing, and his jaw was forced open at an uncomfortable angle.

It left him like that.

.

It had opened a hole in the webbing to feed him, and then filled it in when he was done. Time was still hard for him. He knew that he had been fed thirty two times and that the baby spiders had become very active.

Then they were crawling up his throat and down his intestines, and he felt them build up behind the plug and his gag, cutting off his airways for a moment as they began eating the webbing.

Tears pricked his eyes, and he hoped he had been a good enough show for at least one of his two captors.. his options had slowly dwindled to his master being pleased with his suffering and letting him out, or leaving him to the spider, and if the second option was to happen, he hoped he could produce enough young for the spider to want to keep him.

Because if he didn’t, it was going to eat him, and he wasn’t sure which was worse, if he was honest.

If he didn’t suffocate first.

The spider returned and poked a hole in the webbing at his mouth, presumably to feed him. The babies surged through the tiny hole, enlarging it with their sheer number, and baby spiders were pouring down his face and chest. The spider scuttled down and did the same to the plug, and he felt those babies leave him too.

.

He had no idea how long the birthing went on. The Dannsair was hungry, he was tired, he wanted to go home. The spider began flushing his insides with something, and some stragglers were forced out, and then he was fed.

There were no more, he was sure.

He was shocked to see his master enter the room and grab the jar. He wasn’t freed though, and the Dannsair started crying again.

It was too unfair! Why did everyone hate him? Why did they all do such horrible things to do? He wasn’t even worth saving now; he was going to end up on a shelf in his master’s room, and be forced to watch his master break another Dannsair, some other unfortunate soul just like him, until the poor thing either died or joined him in his torment.

He hoped they died. It was much better.

The jar was plonked down on a table, and his tiny world shook.

“Fix it.” The sharp, snapped command broke through his haze. Was he being saved?!

“M-my lord, I don’t know how!” The Dannsair’s hope started to wither. If the potions master didn’t know how to fix him..! He looked up at the man with he hoped was a pitiable enough look.

He would have begun pleading if he could.

The potions master sighed and looked the jar over. “I’ll see what I can do..” 

He picked the jar up. “May I hold onto this for the time being my lord?” His master nodded. “If you can’t fix it within two days, kill it or keep it, whatever you want.

“I have no use for it if it’s like that.” The Dannsair started to cry. ‘Useless’... he was useless..

Useless things met bad ends here.

“However if I find you are deceiving me.. I will have you executed for treason and find a new potions master.” The Dannsair almost didn’t hear the threat. He had been deemed useless after all.

The potions master nodded, visibly frightened. “Of course my lord..!”

His master left.

.

One and a half days later, the Dannsair was back to normal height. He was now deathly afraid of spiders, but refused to squish them.

What if they were his babies? He wanted someone to remember him in a nice way, even if they were only spiders.

It was a sobering thought; he probably meant more to these spiders than to any person in this entire stone world.

He still wasn’t over being deemed useless, even if only temporarily, but he knew that he was bound to be deemed useless at some point. He had better get used to it.


	9. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dannsair gives his master a lap dance. His master gets an idea.
> 
> The Dannsair is not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bam. Here you go.

The Dannsair had given his master lap dances before. It wasn’t anything new. He’d even done them completely naked. But this was something completely new.

It had started out normally enough: his master had told him to give him a little dance and pulled him up on his lap. So he had ground his hips to his master’s crotch, feeling the hardness of his master’s erection. He had made his lap dance as sensual as possible, because if his master didn’t come during his performance, he would be fucked.

Literally.

He had squeaked in surprise when his master had unlaced his breeches and the Dannsair felt his cock against his entrance. He never wore underwear when he was dancing.

Things had only gone downhill from there.

His master didn’t bother muffling the cry the Dannsair gave in pain as he entered him. Leaning forward, his master whispered in his ear, “Keep going. Give me a show.”

Tears leaking down his face, the Dannsair continued his dance as best he could, impaled as he was on his master’s cock, trying to be sensual and pretty, struggling to keep a rhythm. Every once in a while, his rhythm would be broken when his master thrusted into his hole.

He could feel eyes on him, could hear soft moans and groans of pleasure as those in the throne room who had been watching him dance began to pleasure themselves, no doubt by imagining they were in the king’s place.

“Can you hear them, pretty?” his master purred, his voice rough and strained with arousal. “Can you hear them pretending they’re the ones who’re fucking you?” The Dannsair sobbed quietly, clinging to his master’s neck, as his master chased his orgasm.

When he felt hot seed coating his insides, he kept going, looking pleadingly at his master. The wet squelches coming from his abused hole were so audible in the throne room to his ears, and no doubt everyone else. His stomach had a little bump, but it took a backseat to the humiliation he was feeling right now.

His master only smiled and gestured for him to continue.

Crying, the Dannsair kept going, feeling his master getting hard again.

In all, he pulled his master through three orgasms before he was deemed finished. There was seed on the floor, that he was made to lick up, and seed dripping down his legs.

The Dannsair hadn’t even come once. He wasn’t even half-hard.

He was sent back to his room, where he hid under his bed, blanket wrapped tightly around him. It was nice under his bed. No one wanted to fuck him senseless at any given time. No one wanted to make him suffer. It was just dark. It was just him and his blanket.

He was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was difficult but worth it!


End file.
